It is always an occasion of pleasure for me when October comes around, year after year. This is not, as many may think, because October is the month when baseball’s World Series is fought out, nor because it is my birth month, although that is certainly a thing of moment. After all, reaching another birthday milestone at my advanced age is something that brings on a mixture of relief, surprise, and a feeling that somehow I am cheating Mother Nature (or more likely Beelzebub). I regard it as a distinction that has come to me in spite of all the things that I have done to myself to encourage my demise. Wonder of wonders, it seems that I have not yet reached my expiration date! Thus I thumb my nose at the forces of darkness for another year.

No, the pleasure referred to on line 1 of this piece is that October is the month when the year’s crop of Nobel prizes is announced. Maybe like everyone else, I am a little less than agog to read the name of this year’s lucky winners in the various categories. Of course, I know that my own name will not be there, because that piece of news would have been conveyed to me before it was conveyed to the media. Rather my interest focusses on whether anyone that I know will get the accolade, sort of like the interest with which we scan obituaries to see whether someone we know has been called across the great divide. Of course the probability that a name that we know will show up in an obit is much higher than that name will first appear in a list of Nobellists. To push this line of thought to the place where no one really wants to go, we can be certain that the obituary probability is tending to unity for us, one and all.

As usual, the winners of this year’s prizes in the science categories were unknown to your correspondent (and after just a couple of days, they have become unknown again). The only exceptions to this rule over the years have been George Porter and Ahmed Zewail; the obverse of this is that I know and have known many scientists who should have been awarded the Nobel-don’t we all? But for me, the thing of note this year was the awarding of the Peace Prize to the European Union, another piece of whimsy by the Norwegians, somewhat akin to their awarding the same prize to B.H. Obama a couple of years ago. It has been said that Barack is the only Peace Nobellist to have a hit list (which he decreased by one member after Osama the ‘Orrible was fed to the fishes). According to the citation, the EU has “for over six decades contributed to the advancement of peace and reconciliation, democracy and human rights in Europe”. During that time the EU has avoided having war on its own territory, although it has been arming itself to the teeth in the meanwhile and polishing its martial arts by involving itself in other folks’ wars on other folks’ territories; it seems that such is the nature of peace in our time.

So, if the Nobel guys of Norway are indeed afflicted with whimsy, then I suggest that we, whimsical creatures that we are, make an effort to outdo them and predict some future awardees. To start the ball rolling I have three propositions for you that, in no particular order of eccentricity, are:

1)     US Secretary of State Hilary Clinton for her astuteness in preventing the Israeli nation from unleashing its attack dogs on Iran.

2)     The Russian punk rockettes “Pussy Riot” for their willingness to endure incarceration for demonstrating against the excesses of Tsar Vladimir.

3)     Queen Elizabeth II for her long-standing fortitude in putting up with the foibles and idiosyncrasies of the last 12 presidents of Britain’s largest colony.

Hmm, on reflection these are all women!

Speaking of presidents, it probably has not escaped your notice that the USA is in the final throes of a Presidential (and of lesser mortals) election; there is about a month to go ‘ere the last votes are cast. Astute observers of the American political scene might assert that elections commence the day after inauguration of a new president, gradually picking up stridency, until in this final month the uproar is pandemonic! The aforesaid Mr. Obama is being seriously tested by a gentleman named Mitt Romney. Those of you who are of a scientific bent might be engaged to learn that George Romney, Mitt’s father, who was a former governor of Michigan, automobile mogul and former candidate for the republican presidential nomination, was closely related (second cousin) to Henry Eyring, one of the developers, along with Michael Polanyi and Meredith Evans (my own doctor-grandfather) of Transition State Theory. Moreover, both Mitt Romney and Henry Eyring trace their heritage to Miles Romney who was born and raised in Dalton-in-Furness in what was then the county of Lancashire (now Cumbria) UK. Miles was converted to Mormonism by missionaries and in 1841 the family immigrated to the US, first to Illinois, thence to Utah to assist in the settlement of the city of St. George. There is a lot more very interesting information on the Romney tale at http://www.bbc.co.uk/news/magazine-18422949.

Why do I care about all this? Well, I really do not, but my interest was slightly elevated when I saw the mention of Dalton-in-Furness, because in the 1960’s Dalton had a cricket team (probably still do) and in that era I was employed in the nuclear labs at Windscale works, which also had a cricket team of which I was a member. Both teams were in the North Lancashire league (although properly Windscale was situated in the neighboring county of Cumberland) and twice on Saturday afternoons in the summer we would play against each other, home and away. So, in years distant past I cavorted and capered at cricket on the playing fields of Dalton-in-Furness, and I like to think that Miles Romney did too, in years even more distant past. Thus is made the extreme tenuousness of my link to the current presidential contender. Incidentally, neither Eyring, nor Polanyi nor Evans were elevated to Nobel-dom, but Michael’s son John, was awarded the 1986 Chemistry prize, along with Dudley Herschbach and Yuan Lee. John Polanyi studied at Manchester University, obtaining his PhD in 1952. His supervisor was Ernest Warhurst, a former student of his father’s. I mention this because Ernie Warhurst was a man of great warmth and humor who helped and advised me during my own PhD work and in the years when I was a junior faculty in the same department. I took the accompanying photo of Ernie seated at his beloved ESR machine sometime in the early 1970s.

Now for a final word on Nobel prizes; this year’s award for Literature went to Mo Yan, aka Don’t Speak, a Chinese author. The cognoscenti have criticized this award (isn’t there always someone?) on the grounds that Mo’s writings, although plentiful, are not serious enough to be afforded Nobel status. Maybe, maybe not, but this brings the thought that now that I have given up the pursuit of the Chemistry prize (just joking folks), perhaps my literary efforts such as blogging and poetry can be deemed prize material. After all, if lack of seriousness is a criterion, I qualify hands down!

That’s all folks! (for now)